


Whispers on the Wind

by WinonaFlammery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (at least it's implied), Bisexual Harry Potter, Death from Old Age, Future Fic, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, I do not know how to tag, I think the ending is hopeful, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinonaFlammery/pseuds/WinonaFlammery
Summary: "You only get so many years before your body grows too frail and your magic too weak.In the end, all that is left is a game of waiting."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 26





	Whispers on the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the "Draco and Harry has been together for ages and Harry dies of old age" fic that no one asked for and I didn't want to write, but it refused to leave my head until I put it down on paper. (Read end notes for author's rambles).
> 
> I might go back and edit some parts, rewrite clunky or awkward sentences and the like later. I just need a week or so before I'll be able to see my errors, and if I don't post it now I probably will never post it at all (because that's just how I function).
> 
> 30.07.20: I've done some small edits, so I'm happier overall with the flow.

When your eyes close for the last time, it is on periwinkle sheets in a quiet Hampshire bedroom. Everyone knew it was coming. You only get so many years before your body grows too frail and your magic too weak.  
In the end, all that is left is a game of waiting. Life takes its last move, and to the living world you are lost.

The sheets are your favourite ones; you like how the blue looks against Draco’s fair skin and eyes of silver. They are Draco’s favourites too, but only because his skin is fussy, and the fabric has been washed to softness. Your children had to levitate you out to change the bedclothes. You do not mind. Some years ago you would have found it humiliating, but your body is failing and your magic is gone, and you know that this battle you have lost. You want to go out surrounded by your favourite things. Your favourite people.

When the arrangements were made, there was talk of bringing you to healers in lime green robes, into a bed among sterile walls. You refused. There is nothing ailing you. Healers can cure poisonings and maladies and wounds, but they cannot cure the marks of time. Pomp and fanfare was never your style. You only want your dearest ones to witness your passing.  
A final sobbed “I love you” passes your husband’s lips, but you do not know if you reply out loud. The white light caress you, and into it you walk.

.  
.

Your ashes are strewn over a patch of dirt in the garden. You had decided on the spot a few seasons ago, when your ever ailing health made it prudent. Draco had protested. “We still have time, Harry,” he had needled, but you knew better. Your wrinkles and the white of your hair were mirrored in your husband, but whereas your limbs kept you housebound, he still had some life left. Still has some life left. 

“I want you to plant a tree on top of my ashes, Draco,” you had said softly. “Ashes nourish, and I think that would be a good way to go. A cherry tree, those are pretty.”  
It is not the kind of thing you would usually say. You felt like you had turned into Luna. You did not know when you had turned into Luna. The thought made you smile.  
.  
.

A cherry sapling gets planted on your ashes. _Prunus pendula_. The weeping cherry. While its trunk will grow to the sky, its branches will cascade towards your resting place. Like a circle. The neatness of it pleases Draco.  
Your children and your grandchildren do all the planting and digging, while Draco directs. He’s always been a stickler for perfection.  
.  
.

Saplings take time to grow, but by the time the first anniversary of your death comes around, the cherry tree is already a teenager. Tentative branches tip towards the earth. The trunk starts filling out.  
Draco does not know if it is residual magic from your remains or unconscious, uncontrolled magic from your bereaved that is fuelling the growth, but he does not complain. He spends most days sitting on the lawn nearby, talking to the cherry. To you. 

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had not spent all those years fighting. Maybe we would have become friendly earlier. Towards the end, at least. And then I could have spent the next twenty years pining after you while you were happy with Ginevra.” Draco chuckles.  
“I think I am happy it turned out the way it did. While I could never love Astoria the way I love you, she gave me Scorpius, and that is worth the world. He comes by every week now, did you know? Making sure I am okay.”  
He sobers. “I am not. Okay, that is. I miss you every fucking minute of every fucking day, you bastard. Eighty years with you was not enough. No time will ever be enough.”

Draco stands up, dusting off his slacks. Sunlight hits his white hair and his pallid skin, turning it luminescent, translucent. Like a ghost. The _I wanted to go with you_ hangs in the air, unsaid.  
.  
.

Eight turns of the season. The fragile sapling which needed constant care is no more. Instead stands a fully fledged tree, trunk tough and branches heavy. Pink flowers abound.  
In its shade sits Draco, softly stroking the stem.  
“You know, when I go, I will not be put in the Malfoy tomb. I want to stay here with you. My ashes feeding a tree of its own. I will have them plant that tree from the conservatory over me. The one I got because of its name. _Dracaena draco_." He pauses, chuckles, shaking his head. "Feeding my ego even in death. A demise fitting of a Malfoy indeed.”  
Smiling wanly, he adds, “I can almost hear you call me a self-obsessed poncy prat.”  
A single tear escapes down his cheek, but he does not bother wiping it away. No one is here to see. His voice is but a whisper now.

“I wish I **_could_** hear you call me a self-obsessed poncy prat.”  
.  
.

His knees are growing weaker. His movements ever duller. He spends almost every waking moment by the tree. Your tree.  


Your family. The one you built together, the two of you. The children you shared, the grandchildren you loved. They do not worry. They know what is coming.  
.  
.

Draco is standing in the shade of your tree, speaking to the canopy.  
“I have been more candid these last few years than I ever was when you were here. It is one of my biggest regrets. Although, I will kill you again if you tell anyone I said that.” A real smile grazes his lips then. Just a small upward twitch of the corners.  
“I always was one difficult arsehole. How you put up with me for so long is beyond me. Even so, I hope you will continue to put up with me for much, much longer.” The light breeze kisses his cheek.  
“I love you. It was a privilege to spend my life with you. I look forward to spending my afterlife with you as well.”

Draco turns away, heading back to their house. Whispering.  
“It will not be long now. You will wait for me, will you not?”  
Taking one last look at the tree.

In the wind rustling the branches, you whisper back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on AO3, the third fic I ever publish anywhere, and my first for HP. A dream half a year ago dragged me into Drarry hell and I probably won't ever drag my ass back out. I know literally no one in the fandom, so I don't have any beta readers (if you want to beta for me in the future, or you just want to talk fandom or anything, please feel free to inbox me. I'm dying of "lack-of-fandom-interested-friends" starvation).
> 
> Super nervous about posting this (I am a veritable ball of anxiety at all times), but very open to critique and spelling corrections. Please don't be too mean though.
> 
> English is not my first language, and while I like to think I'm pretty fluent, I often mix purely British words/slang with purely American words/slang. It is not intentional. For HP I prefer veering on the British side, so if you spot any "Americanizations" please let me know.
> 
> I'm working on a much longer story atm (re-write of the books ish, but I haven't decided if I'll let Voldemort actually die when Harry was little and just do magical school character driven drama, or if I want to follow canon (but with main focus on character interactions) and start deviating on Draco's personal beliefs/life story from book two ish). It'll be in a pretty casual style though, as opposed to this formal ish one.  
> But since I'm a procrastinator deluxe and easily spiral into holes of depression, I actually want to have the whole shell finished before I start posting any chapters.


End file.
